


Ember

by seizethosegays



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Abuse, Mentions of alcohol, Other, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 11:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizethosegays/pseuds/seizethosegays
Summary: Spot finds a little redhead goin to sell with Race and finds out his situation is much worse than he thought





	Ember

Spot Conlon wasn’t necessarily feared among the newsies. No, they just wouldn’t mess with him. That, and he acted like a dick sometimes. But he was actually really sweet. The famous King of Brooklyn had a soft side, and everyone knew it. They just didn’t say it.

Spot was selling papes one afternoon. The sun was hot on his skin, threatening to burn him, and his sleeveless shirt didn’t do much to cool him down. He slumped against the wall of a bakery he sold by, taking off his hat and fanning himself to cool himself down. A few newsies, Hotshot and Blue Jay, were sellin down the street, and he could hear em yellin false headlines to draw in customers. Stories about bodies being found, politics, fights, and much more that would bring people in. He was damn proud of his newsies.

Then he saw a kid he didn’t know. Short, missing his two front teeth, sleeveless, dirt on his face, freckles, bag of papes slung over his shoulder, and a hat covering his red hair. He looked kinda like Race’s friend Albert. He wouldn’t mind usually, but he was the brother of a Manhattan newsie. And no newsie, from any other burrow, isn’t taking a selling spot from his boys. And by the looks of it, he was headed to Sheepshead. Even though Race wasn’t technically one of his newsies, Race was his boy. And no one is taking a spot from his boy. So, he followed him to Sheepshead. 

He wasn’t far from Race, and he wasn’t sellin any papes either. The bag he had brought was deposited at the blonde boy’s feet, the boy sittin in the dirt a few feet away, Race makin up stories about him being a lost, sick child needing money for a doctor. 

Spot wasn’t gonna run the boy outta Brooklyn, he was helping Race sell. He just wanted to make it clear that Race has an agreement, not him. And, intimidation worked best. So, Spot used the look that scared even his Brooklyn newsies, towering above the small child. The child just looked at him and smiled. 

“What’re you doin in Brooklyn, ya little runt,” Spot didn’t phrase it like a question. Not at all. He didn’t want an answer. Well, he did, but he just wanted the kid out of Brooklyn. 

“Albert said I could hang out with Anthony today,” the kid replied, flashing Spot a grin. Race side eyed the kid for a second before turning his attention to a woman headed into the races. “You must be Shaun Conlon.” 

“That ‘Spot’ to you,” Spot was more confused than anything. The kid greeted him like an old friend, despite never having met him. “What’re you doin here?”

“I already told ya, sir, Albert said I could hang out with Anthony today,” the kid was respectful. Too respectful to be a newsie. For fucks sake he called Spot ‘sir’. “Sir, you think you're scary. But mister, I’ve seen scary-” the kid paused for a moment, confusing Spot and standing up to brush off his legs, “-and you don’t got his smile. I gotta go home before father gets mad.” And then the kid was off, running back to Manhattan. Spot tried to forget it, but something just didn’t sit right.

He laid in his bed, starin up at the ceiling and thinking. Something wasn’t right. Not at all. Careful not to wake anyone up, he stalked over to Tex’s bunk, waking her up to tell her he’s goin out to Manhattan. 

The walk wasn’t long, he was thinking about that damn kid, wondering what they meant. The lodge came into view, and Spot jumped onto the fire escape, the cold metal making him wince. The lights weren’t off, they were all still up playin games. Spot tapped on the window, scaring some of the newsies. 

“Race, ya boyfriends here!!” Jack shouted, loud enough Spot could hear. Everyone erupted into laughs, poking fun at Race. The boy in question shushed then, and smacked a few with his hat. 

“What ya want, Conlon?” Race opened the window, putting his hands on the windowsill and leaning his head out. 

“Ain’t I allowed to jus say hi?” Spot grinned at the blonde. 

“Uh huh, but not while the guys are awake.”

“Hey!!” Smalls shouted from inside, the girl just barely visible behind Racetrack. She was born a guy and gets tempered and insecure when called a guy. And honestly?? Fair. 

“Not while the guys and gals are awake,” Race corrected himself, turning a moment to apologize to Smalls. 

“That lil kid who was wit’ ya today,” Spot leaned in a bit, not wanting any nosey kid to overhear, “who is he?”

“Thas Jackson, Albert’s brother,” Race shrugged. “Why, ya got a problem with him?”

“Nah, he’s a good kid,” Spot smiled a bit, picking at a loose string on his shirt that Race leaned over and jerked off. “I jus got a funny feeling. Where’s they live?” Race rattled off the address with no problem. 

“Albert stays here, though. Only gets home if his brother says things gettin bad. He’s home tonight,” Race looked down with this far away look in his eyes. “Mind goin over there and checkin on em for me? I ain’t like the looks of their father.” Spot nodded and jumped down, heading in the direction of Albert’s. 

He heard it before he saw it. Spot walked around back, hearin a man screaming at who he could only assume was Albert and Jackson. Screamin, words slurrin, and the cryin of a young one. Real young. 

Sighing, Spot backed up and looked around at the house. There was an upstairs with a window he could get to. The Brooklyn boy stacked boxes, cautiously climbing on top of them as to not make noise. As he peered into the window, he saw a girl no older than five sitting by a lantern in her nightdress. She jumped when he tapped at the window, backing further into the corner. 

“It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he said, lifting his hands for her to see. “I’m a friend of Albert’s. My names Spot.” She smiled a bit at his name. “You can laugh, it’s a silly name. Your brother and his friend gave it to me a long time ago. I’m here to give some money to him. Do you feel comfortable letting me in?” 

Hesitantly, she crawled over and unlocked the window, quickly getting to her feet and running back to the lantern. Spot pressed his fingertips into the glass and raised it up, sticking his tongue out of his mouth a little. 

“Thank you, miss,” Spot smiled at her, and she shushed him. Spot nodded, whispering, “what’s your name?” The girl shook her head. Spot inches closer to her and sat down. “Do you have one?” He got a quiet no. “Is your father mad?” She nodded. 

“All the time,” she whispered. “Hits Jackson.” Spot clenched his jaw. He looked around the room. A mattress on the floor, a pair of clothes for the girl, and one for Jackson. Other than that, nothing. There was a shout, a thud, and then it was silent. The girl shoved herself into Spot’s arms, and he picked her up and got to his feet. Loud footsteps echoed throughout the house, along with smaller, quieter ones. Jackson burst into the room, running behind Spot. One look at the boy and, even in the darkened room, Spot could see the bruises forming. 

Their father came next, bloodshot eyes and a broken whiskey bottle in hand. He stopped when he saw Spot. 

“Outta my house!!” He yelled, standing up tall to try and intimidate the boy, getting ready to come at him. Spot handed the girl to Jackson and told them to head out the window and wait outside. “Get back in here!!” Jackson froze at his fathers command. 

“Jackson, don’t you listen to him, alright? Now I want you to take your sister and go find Race, alright?” Spot turned him toward the window and Jackson nodded, doing what Spot asked. 

“Wait, what about Albert?” Jackson asked, stopping. “He’s in the kitchen, sir.” Spot nodded and encouraged them out. 

“Get outta my house,” their father growled. Spot held his head high and stepped closer to the man. He wouldn’t throw the first punch. He wouldn’t. The man clenched his fists, but Spot stayed calm. He swung at Spot, and Spot took the punch, immediately clenching his fist and hit him. The man stumbled back and hit the wall, but ultimately got back up and swung at him again. The two kept this up. For every punch the man threw, Spot threw one three times harder. He got up one last time, and Spot had had enough. Spot waited until he swung, then shoved him against the wall, hitting his stomach, chest, and once in the jaw. The man slumped against the wall. 

“Don’t you ever, ever go near those kids again,” Spot’s voice was low, warning him. “Don’t look, don’t speak, don’t even think of em. Hear me? Never again will you lay a hand on those kids.” Spot left him and headed downstairs to look for the missing redhead.

“Albert? It’s me, Spot,” his tone was much softer than what he used with their father, and a bit frantic. 

“Here, Spot,” the boy winced. Spot found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and tending to his bloody nose. Bruises and cuts littered his body. 

“Let’s get you outta here,” Spot gave him a sad smile. 

The ginger shook his head, and his voice broke when he spoke, “ain’t no way I’m leavin my brother and sister here, Spot, I can’t do it.” Spot grabbed a little lantern that was sitting on the table and moved it closer. It was then he saw the tears in the redhead’s eyes and realized just how many bruised he had.

“Hey, relax,” Spot gently lead Albert out the door and in the direction of the lodge, “I already sent em to go find Racer.”

“How long ya been here, Conlon?” 

“Too long for my liking, Al. Ya ain’t gotta worry bout him no more.”

“You didn’t like,” Albert stopped and looked at Spot, “kill him or anything, right?”

“I told him not to go near ya or ya sister or brother again,” Spot sighed, “he’s still breathin.”

“Aw damn,” Albert let out a laugh. “Shoulda let him have it, Spot.”

“I should have,” Spot agreed wholeheartedly. “But I had bigger things to worry bout than beating some bastard to death. Like gettin you three to the lodge.” 

The two of them joked a bit to brighten the mood as they walked to the lodge. When they got there, they were greeted with worried Manhattan newsies all pouncing on them to ask if they were okay. 

When the initial worry died down, Albert turned to Jack, “where-“

“Bathroom with Race, Al,” Jack smiled a bit. Spot went to follow to see if they were okay, but Jack stopped him for a second. “I had no idea any of that was happenin. I could imagine losin one ‘a my newsies. Thank you, Spot. I really owe ya one.”

“Ya owe me nothin’, Kelly,” the Brooklyn leader shook his head. “Knowin theys outta danger is all I need.” Jack nodded and let him go, leaving him to wander off to the bathroom. He opened the door to see Race and Albert sitting on the edge of the bathtub, each holding a kid. 

“Spot!” the girl looked at Spot as soon as he opened the door, wiggling out of Albert’s arms directly to Spot. Smiling, Spot grinned and hugged her, picking her up.

“Looks like she likes you more than me, huh, Spot?” Albert laughed, leaning against his knees. 

“An’ it looks like you need some food n’ water before bed,” Race stood up, putting Jackson down and walking out the door. Spot sat down where Race had been, sitting the girl in his lap. 

“Spot, I ain’t able to thank you enough for gettin them outta there,” Albert sighed, not looking at the shorter boy.

“Hey, don’t thank me at all,” Spot took in a deep breath, “ain’t no one deserves to suffer when they gots folks like that. Not a damn soul. All that matters is these lil guys are outta there an’ none of ya’s goin back.” 

“Spot, there ain’t enough room in the lodge for both of them, I ain’t got anywhere else for em to go,” Albert was fussin over somethin that was easy to fix. 

“Aw, thas easy to fix,” Spot rolled his eyes. “Red over there can stay at the Brooklyn lodge, the guys’ll be happy to have em. And ain’t no reason she can’t stay here with you and help ya sell. Speaking of, does she have a name?”

Albert shook his head, “not a legal one, but mom always called her Ember ‘fore she had her.” 

“Ember can stay here with you and the guys, ain’t no reason she can’t,” Spot shrugged. Albert nodded and looked at the small girl. She was thin, definitely underfed, dirty, and her nightdress is dirty. He would give her a bath, but she was fast asleep in Spot’s lap. 

“I’ll give her a bath in the mornin,” he yawned, taking her from Spot. “‘s real late, Spot, bunk with Race and sell here tomorrow. Tex and Hotshot can look after Brooklyn for a day.” Spot smiled and made sure Albert and Ember were fine before going to find Jackson layin next to Buttons for the night. Spot’ll take him to Brooklyn after sellin tomorrow and get him settled with another newsie around his age to sell with. 

The boy walked over to Race’s bunk, shoving him gently to move him over and getting under the blanket with him. 

“Thank you, Spotty,” Race whispered, his voice laced with sleep and the boy himself ready to sleep. 

“Ain’t no problem, Racer,” the boy yawned, “now get some rest, I’m sellin wit’ ya tomorrow.” The next day, Albert took Ember with him and Elmer, and Race sold with Spot and Jackson and Sheepshead. Jackson fit right in with the Brooklyn bunch. Short tempered, respectful when need to be, and puts up one hell of a fight for what’s right. Spot sure was glad he decided to go check out and see if Albert was okay. Damn glad.


End file.
